


The Easy Way Out

by Spicegator



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Drama, F/M, Fighting, Foul Language, Gay, Guns, Heists, M/M, Multi, OT6, War, its gonna be gay eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spicegator/pseuds/Spicegator
Summary: Ray Narvaez Jr. is the epitome of a broke, miserable college kid. It's finals week, and hes so far ready for death to take him, when hes in a local convienence store in a shadier part of Los Santos trying to buy himself a Redbull and a microwave burrito as a gift to himself at midnight, seeing the cashier suddenly turn into a cloud of red mist is pretty terrifying but Ray was too dumb, too shocked, and too dead inside to care...





	1. Fools Errand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. I'll write as much as I can. If this gains enough popularity, all you have to do is message me nonstop on Tumblr (I'm @spicegator / @spicegrindr there) and I'll write more. Really. Annoy the fuck out of me. Really.

Ray had not, in fact, come from a deranged family, or an abusive home, or wasn’t in fact a poor kid either. He simply had the bad fucking luck to be standing in the wrong 7/11 on the wrong day for midnight. He was literally a freshman in college, just turned 19 not but a few weeks ago, and after the pressure of finals week he decided to head out that Friday night and do what college kids do when the semester is over, seek out an incredibly healthy heart-attack from hell burrito from the nearest convenience store and a really big Red Bull. A treat for his hard work, even though he was pretty sure no score he could get on his finals could save him from failing.

But alas, Ray didn’t give much of a shit anymore, and while he stood in the line (really, there was a line at nearly midnight) he pondered why he hadn’t just offed himself already to avoid the student debt he was burying himself in. Seriously, fuck school man. He kept his hood up, strings drawn as the edges of it crowded around the edges of his lightly blurred vision. Shit, he didn’t even have his glasses on.

Ray tosses his head back, a half-sigh half-grunt escaping his throat without his permission. Whoever this guy is in front of him is, needs to hurry up. Ray checks his phone, it is precisely 11:48 PM on a Friday night, and someone, has spent what he estimates to be about three minutes attempting to check out at a convenience store, and the lack of consideration this guy has for the miserable, obviously half-dead college kid behind him at this hour is really starting to get on Rays nerves.

The customer ahead of him, who is currently conversing with the cashier in an almost casual fashion now, is a tall and lanky blonde. Bleached, spiked hair adorning the top of his head, but carefully gelled to perfection. He wears a light pink, crisp button up dress shirt which Ray is almost certain is more expensive than Ray’s entire wardrobe combined. Skinny jeans that are just too tight around his thighs and cover his ass in a way that even Ray, Ray the Straight Guy, will admit, is pretty fucking attractive. Well done, stranger of the night.

The most notable features about this character that Ray in no way would ever forget is this man’s accent, British, if Ray’s tired ears aren’t failing him, but muddled, like he has spent far too long around too many Americans; and the fact he is rocking a pair of gold framed mirrored aviators in the middle of the night. Shit, if Ray had his glasses on, he might even be able to confirm that this creature of the night has his nails done in gold as well.

The man digs into his pockets, babbling something about how many “pound” his purchase was to be, and the clerk responding he could only accept American dollars, much to the foreigners discontent it seemed. The Brit look a sidelong glance out the window into the dark, quiet streets of Los Santos toward the only car in the lot, a shimmering chrome Adder, which Ray can only assume belongs to this obviously wealthy man. The stranger turns away from looking outside, only to thank the cashier and abandon his unpurchased goods on the clerk's countertop as he makes his way back outside toward his vehicle. From what Ray can see, two Red Bull and a pack of Marlboro golds.

Ray simply shakes his head, and approaches the countertop with his two very important items, and sets them on the counter as the cashier sweeps away the goods the foreigner had left behind. Ray fleetingly looks out toward the parking lot, the chrome sports car still gleaming in the orangish hue of the street lights. It had darkly tinted windows, breaking all of Ray's hopes of catching the eyes of the man who had once been standing here not too long ago. Ray turns

back toward the cashier and digs into his pockets, he knows that somewhere, he has a couple ones for his midnight snack.

He checked his front pockets, coming up empty, and sighing. Maybe he didn't have a handful of ones. Maybe, he's just so tired he hallucinated that he had any money. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as the clerk waits impatiently for what Ray is going to do to pay for his snacks.

A soft whir from outside catches Ray’s attention, but just slightly, and he turns just as a hail of gunfire turns what was _once_ a midnight store clerk into a sparkly red cloud of… everything that was once his insides. His insides are outside, and painting everything. Including Ray’s face, with a thin layer of blood.

He just stands there, sheerly mortified at everything that has just happened in the split second where hundreds of rounds of lead had sailed through the storefront windows and into the clerk, then out of him, and using him and the lead to paint everything in the nearby vicinity a brilliant red. The messy spray from the automatic left Ray shocked that he hadn't been hit by a single round or piece of shrapnel.

The double doors to the gas station fly open, and Ray whips around to face the sudden intruder, already alarmed by the blood and gore that's now everywhere. Facing him is the lanky man in the pink shirt and sunglasses, a winning smile gracing his lips as a second man, a shorter redhead shoulders his way past, hefting around a massive minigun, barrels still smoking.

Oh.

Ray’s almost certain, he's going to die here.

In a shitty gas station at midnight on a shittier side of Los Santos, drowning in student debt and self hatred.

Awesome.

The Brit from earlier throws his hands in the air and saunters toward the Puerto Rican, who's currently frozen in place because he's so certain that he's going to die. The redhead sets his massive automatic down, leaning it against the cooler behind Ray before leaping the counter, not even giving a second thought about the blood that's covering his hands, literally. The redhead toes around in the bloody mess behind the counter for a moment then hits a button on the register and grabs the cash.

They aren't even in a hurry, Ray thinks. Where are the cops? Shouldn't they be here by now? Are the response times in Los Santos that shitty?

The Brit who's waiting for his partner, it seems, heads toward the back, snagging three more Red Bull, and a microwave burrito before heading Ray’s way. The golden man passes Ray the burrito and a Red Bull, the same he had earlier, which is now on the counter and covered in blood.

“‘Ere you go, love,” the Brit says, patting Ray gently on the shoulder, “sorry you had to see that.”

Ray nods slightly, he can't tell whether he should say thanks or throw the food back at the man and sprint out of there. There's something about the pair of them that catches Ray's eye. The Brit looks just so… happy? Same with the redhead, there's a fiery glint in his eyes that Ray hasn't seen in his own in years.

“Gonna have to get outta here soon, Gav,” the redhead stays, his curls bouncing as he leaps the counter and straightens his leather jacket, hints of burn marks adorning the sleeves. The taller man, Gav, simply shrugs, pulling out his phone and tapping at the screen for a few seconds, “The loop continues for another ten minutes, we’re fine.”

The Brit taps at his phone some more and then turns it toward Ray, “What your number?” The Brit asks Ray, passing him his phone. A gold and white iPhone 6; why isn't he surprised?

Ray holds the thing in his fingers delicately, looking down at the new contact screen, then back up at the lanky man, “What?”

It barely escapes him as a whisper, drawn out and strung tight. He doesn't know what to do, now that he's not been killed, he doesn't know what to do. He was so certain that he was going to die, he'd even had his whole life flash before his eyes, the short 19 years of his boring vanilla lifestyle in seconds.

The Brit flashes him that winning grin as his shorter, brutish counterpart snatches the pack of bloody Marlboros off the counter and lights one up with a zippo he seemed to produce out of thin air, leaning against the glass window and carefully watching the interaction between the two with a blank, uncaring face. He doesn't even seem in the slightest to care that there's blood painting his hands.

Ray thinks for a moment, if that were him he'd be scrubbing his hands so clean, they'd be raw.

He shakes the thought from his mind as he carefully taps his name and number into the stranger's phone without a second thought, what could he do with just a phone number? What did he have to lose at this point anyway? A couple grams of weed and his Xbox? Wouldn't matter if he was dead anyway, and as much as he didn't want to admit it he had been thinking about how _awesome_ death would be about now, considering his college grades and money situation.

He didn't have anything that could matter to two criminals of their apparent stature. Ray didn't recognize what gang they were probably from, but judging by the clothes the Brit was wearing and the car, they had to be higher up in the ranks. And that thought terrified Ray, terrified him in the greatest of ways. They wanted _him._ For what, Ray didn't know. But it was awfully apparent they didn't want him for his things.

Ray passes the phone back to the Brit, Gav is his name, he thinks, probably short for Gavin. He briefly examines the contact, then extends his hand, “Nice to meet you, Ray, you'll hear from me soon yeah?”

Ray simply nods, and Gav, or Gavin, snags the Red Bull's he had taken from the cooler earlier off the counter and tosses one to his counterpart, who catches it with ease.

Ray feels caught like a rat, trapped between two predators and he doesn't even so much as want to breathe near either of them. He feels so observed and exposed it hurts. 

“I say we take him home now, boi,” the shorter of the two says, “Geoff would like him. He's got to have some sort of useful skills.”

Ray can't help but smile at that, well, he's got an array of talents, he taught himself to pick locks at school years ago, and he got pretty good with card tricks and pick pocketing as well. Ray’s vanilla life led him to looking for more interesting things to immerse himself in, and he used to get quite the thrill from theft, from misdirection and sleight of hand. It made Ray feel so far above everyone else, so intelligent and it felt like he had so much power. He wasn't ever strong, or fast, but where Ray lacked in pure physical power he made up for in cleverness and wit, like a fox. 

“Well?” Gav asks Ray.

Ray goes to respond but finds himself at a loss for words at the time, or at least mostly, “Who… are you exactly?” 

The redhead approaches, toting the minigun in both hands, but lowered, to stand by his partners side,”Michael Jones,” he states, a hint of an accent in his voice that Ray is struggling to place, “and this, is Gavin Free.” He says, nodding toward the taller blonde.

Michael grins, a wicked smile that screams danger, and Gavin does as well, joyful but ready for anything, “Of the Fake AH crew,” Gavin adds, his voice lilting into a tone that Ray has little experience with. It's so dangerous and sharp, Ray takes a step back. 

The Fakes… now they're a notorious crew, one of the few that Ray actually knows of in Los Santos. A dangerous lot, really, known for their huge explosions and mass civilian casualties during their elaborate and extravagant heists. The Fakes were practically immortal, a dozen times over the police would report they had shot and wounded one of the members only to find them weeks later, the five of them whole and well again, and planning to burn their city to the ground for the hell of it. 

There's only one Fake that Ray could truly recognize and remember, and that's their leader, a middle-aged man, tattooed to the heavens with tired eyes and a hint of a smile always gracing his lips, rumor had it that he was such a level of class, he wore a crisp tux and a bow tie almost all of the time, and had one of his boys drive him in a beautifully restored Roosevelt around the city for any of his business. It then clicks in Ray’s mind, this must be the Geoff they spoke of earlier, and by what Ray sees of the Fakes now, Geoff takes  _ very  _ good care of his boys. And maybe, he'd take care of Ray as well. 

Ray nods solemnly at the thought, gods… this could be so very good for him, if this is a job offer at least. Take him away from that hellish college, away from those painful classes, away from surviving off of the Top Ramen he could barely scrounge up sometimes, and Ray looks up to Gavin, “I used to be a fair pickpocket, I'm still pretty good with locks, but I've got steady hands and real quick reflexes. Never shot a gun before, though.”

Michael mock-gasps at him, “Not once?”

Even Gavin, the Brit looks shocked. (They don't even have guns in Britain! Do they?)

“Oh well baby, I'm sure we could fix that,” Gavin tells Ray carefully. The accent and Gavin’s brilliant smile has Ray’s mind on a track to agree with him, and he nods in response.

“Yeah, okay, I'll go, what the hell right? Yolo.” Ray says firmly. Michael grins, maybe it's just their dangerously tangible charm, but the duo of criminals are so painfully well matching, their personalities playing off one another so well, it's hard not to fall for their aura.

Gavin makes a slight gesture toward the door of the convenience store as he checks his phone once more, “Yeah it’s time to go, boi.”

The more Ray thinks about it, they must have had to have hacked the security system to the place earlier. Maybe that’s what Gavin was doing inside earlier. Wireless jammer maybe? Cam loops? Narvaez simply shrugs off the idea, they’re a terribly resourceful gang. They probably did just that. 

Michael nods, and grabs his massive gun, the Red Bull, and heads for the Adder parked out front. Ray walks with Gavin, and Michael opens the door of the sportscar and gestures toward behind the seat, and Ray gets the idea and jumps in the back, along with a handful of other items including the warm minigun and what Ray assumes is a bunch of empty energy drink cans, but he can’t accurately make them out in the dark or without his glasses. He simply slouches into the soft leather, and Gavin and Michael jump into the front seats as red and blue flashing lights reflect off some adjacent windows. 

“That’s our cue boi!” Gav says urgently, and Michael jumps right into third gear, whipping the Adder out of the gritty parking lot and heading right for the heart of Los Santos at literally a hundred miles an hour. The force sucks Ray into his seat, and his heart races as they make it around a box truck in a slide with mere inches to spare, tires screeching as Michael makes an inhumanly tight turn. 

The cops in Los Santos aren’t chasing them, not bothering with people who speed at midnight on empty roads. Not when armed robbery, drugs and gang violence were the forefront of the issues in the city. The sheer amount of dirty money that flows in and out of the city is really what keeps it afloat, and those who don’t participate, well, they drown. 

Not but a few moments later, when they’re doing a smooth hundred and twenty down the highway, Michael asks, “Hey, got an apartment you want us to stop by and drop you at or…?”


	2. Fledgling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael takes Ray back to his home to gather his things, only to find out that Ray doesn't own much. Ray uncovered a bit more about the Fakes, who they are, and who they are inside. It makes Ray question who he is and what he wants to do, and what he can do for the Fakes, and what the Fakes have done and will do for him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters won't always be coming our daily. I'm just on a roll. If I don't post for about a week, feel free to bug me on Tumblr! (@spicegrindr (main) / @spicegator (art side blog))

“Yeah…” Narvaez murmurs, “I don't have much though, but I want my Xbox.”

Michael laughs at that, and Gavin looks at him through the rear view mirror with a smile, “You game?”

He nods, “Yeah; I do.”

“What’s your gamer tag?” Gav asks him.

Ray smiles at that, it's not that they aren't the gaming type, it's that they probably care about gamer score, “Brownman.”

“Brownman?” Michael asks curiously, “What's that about?”

“I'm a brown man,” Ray says flatly, like it's painfully obvious.

Gavin giggles, “You're not brown, you're more like… tan!”

Laughing with the other two, conversation seems to come so easy with them. Like they're all on a mutual understanding of one another, “I used to be brown! And besides, Tanman doesn't sound as good,” Ray says lightheartedly, “But the address is 1330 Renfro, on the east side.”

“I'll get you there,” Michael tells Ray confidently as they barrel down an exit at over a hundred. Yeah, Michael will get them there alright, dead or alive it seems.

Silence falls over the vehicle for a few moments, giving Ray some time to think. They're just so easy going and lighthearted, and Ray thinks he could get used to such a welcoming group. Ray watches Gavin text quietly, but Ray can't make out who or what he's messaging about. He can see the man flipping between apps, twitter and iMessage by the looks of it, but without his glasses he can't decipher a word of it.

Ray gazes out the window fleetingly, the brilliant orange street lights that line the freeways flashing by in a blur, thinking about what he might have just agreed to. Ray closes his eyes, and he can see that cashier suddenly behind that counter, then all Ray can see is blood; painting the walls and the floor, more than there actually was in the original event.

Ray opens his eyes, then it hits him, the blood and gore hardly phased him, if at all. If Ray thinks about it, he thinks he might have been more startled by the sudden gunfire in such a quiet location than anything else. The thought makes his heart race. Maybe he was meant for this life. I mean, he does his weed, plays his video games, and eats a fuckload of fast food. Realistically, not the healthiest lifestyle, but it hadn't killed him yet. Besides, it was the happiest he could be in his tiny apartment with no money and college to attend. Wait, would he be going to college still if he was with the Fakes? Ray thinks not. Ray hopes not. Because fuck if he doesn't want to spend the money and the time on a bunch of horse shit like that.

Michael turns, well, power slides into the parking lot of his complex, and pulls into the nearest, empty parking space. It's not like it was far from the convenience store, but Michael had taken them deep into the heart of the city before looping around to avoid a run in with any unnecessary cops. He pulls the key, and turns to Ray, “We’re here.”

And that's what snaps Ray out of his trance of thinking about his massive life decision to associate himself with a group of five notorious masterminds and murderers. He knows there's five of them, and as of now he knows three of them. And so far what he knows, there's no way that this could be all the gang’s muscle and brilliance. Gavin is smart, but he's got an idiotic air that Ray can sense but hasn't yet experienced. He's a bit of a goof, as Ray would put it. A cute goof, he’ll admit. Michael though could definitely be part of the gang's primary muscle, he's strong, stout, and has a fiery temper that Ray thinks could surface at any moment. But, they're so honest, Ray Doesn't see himself _not_ trusting them.

Ray climbs out of the back seat, his small frame making him able to even ride in the cramped space of the limited sports car back seat. He manages to get out and land on his feet without issue, digging into his pocket for his keys as he, Gavin and Michael head up toward the complex.

Jogging up the flights of stairs, the three of them head for Ray’s dingy, little apartment. There's terribly low light, and Ray is usually a little paranoid about being out this late at night in this area, it's been more than once that he's heard gunshots in the darkness while trying to farm achievements from games while grinding at night. But, Ray won't admit it, not yet at least, he feels terribly safe to have Gavin and Michael at his back protecting him. Or at the very least, watching for him, that's one thing Ray never liked, not being able to see behind him.

Ray inserts the key into the lock of 44, shaking the handle a bit (the lock sticks) and toeing open the door and stepping inside, Michael and Gavin both following him close behind.

“This is… it?” Gav says, his voice tense, like he feels bad…?

Ray nods, “Yeah?”

Michael scoffs and kicks Gavin in the shin lightly, “Dude not everyone is fucking rolling like we are, I came from a place like this too you know, before the Fakes. Don't be fucking rude.”

It's not like Ray really cares, he hasn't been too fond of this establishment of his anyway. It's not an insult in the slightest.

Gav groans slightly, before a realization sets in, ah there's the dumb that Ray has been waiting for, “I haven't always been rich!”

“Gav,” Michael says flatly, trying to end it already, “Your parents owned a lake house.”

“Lotsa families own lake houses!”

“Two lake houses, Gav,” Michael sighs.

Gavin's accent seems to thicken when he's upset, Ray notes as he heads for his Xbox which is currently seated on the ratty, carpet flooring.

Michael looks around, heading for the fridge and opening it, finding it nearly empty of anything minus a few eggs and a quarter of a gallon of expired milk. He slams the door at the smell, and sighs, it doesn't look like anyone actually lived here at all. It looks like one of their safe houses which are scattered all around the outskirts of the city. Nothing on the walls, no notable features, and easy to forget, “This place is so…” Michael starts.

“Sterile?” Gav says, wandering back toward the bedroom.

Ray only shrugs, he doesn't care, the appearance of his home never truly concerned him so long as all of its functionality remained. Also as long as there wasn't mold. Ray was allergic to mold. Because it was fucking filthy.

Ray finds his glasses, which are on the kitchen counter and rubs them on his sleeve before slipping them. Ah yes, the world is so much clearer now.

Gavin and Michael appear to have grown bored of his tiny apartment, and are now side by side, eagerly waiting for him.

He has a milk crate he uses as a stool occasionally, and a catch-all electronics bin even more often. He dumps all of the shit in it on the floor with a smile, he's really ready for whatever these two have in store for him. If it changes his horrible life habits, he really doesn't care. He carefully sets his Xbox in the crate, dropping the power cord and the external hard drive connected to it on top. He grabs what few games he has anymore, and sets them in as well.

Ray also digs under his bed and finds an envelope, yellowed with age. He briefly opens the tab and makes sure it's contents are intact, and once he finds that they are, he quickly slips them into the pocket of his hoodie as well. Photos of his parents, he'd never leave them behind.

After heading a lot to the living/dining room Ray sets the crate on his chair, he only has one, because he never has guests, it's only ever him, so it works fine. But now with Gavin and Michael standing there looking at him and his lone chair he suddenly feels a tad self conscious and awkward about how alone he truly is, and that Gav and Michael can see it. Well, used to be he guesses.

Ray jogs into his bedroom and grabs his phone and his wallet from his apartment, which now that he thinks about it he should've had when he went out to grab a Red Bull earlier but the worst that could've happened… it did happen, and it happened and ended well.

He finds his DS and his charger, and tosses that and it's games in the box as well. He stands in front of Gavin and Michael, gazing softly at the floor as he thinks about what else he might need. Or want for that matter. And the more Ray thinks about it, the more he realizes that he in fact, owns very little.

“I don't…” Ray trails off, giving the crate of video games a sidelong look, “I don't think I own much more than this.”

Michael simply shrugs, turning his gaze away from Ray. It's becoming more and more apparent that Michael has a lot of secrets to hide. Or at least he has a many things he doesn't want to say. And it pains Ray’s heart, like a cold knife between the ribs.

Gavin, however, simply smiles at him and bends to pick up the milk crate, then promptly passes it to Michael, who scoffs, but takes it without complaint. Ray almost takes it from Michael, but he highly doubt that Michael would let him, because he really does seem to pull quite a bit more than his weight, and he enjoys it. Or, he feels responsible to do so, and the other's let him because it helps him with whatever issues he may have. Ray doesn't want to fuck with Michael’s white knuckles grip on the box anyway.

Ray assumes to become a criminal like any of the Fakes, you have an issue rooted deep within you. A center, eternal problem, with very impossibly deeply rooted issue that cannot be tamed.

Ray then thinks about that, if he's to be a Fake himself, he must have an issue as well, a problem as well. He has to have something in common with them to even consider wanting to work with such a dangerous group of people. But he puts the thought behind him for now, he’ll have an existential crisis over who he is and what is issues are at a later date.

Being home and seeing his bed reminded him how tired he really is now, and he looks at Michael and Gavin and shrugs, “That's it I guess.” Ray follows the comment by shoving his hands in his pockets, casting his gaze downward a bit. He feels a bit like a lost puppy that's being adopted by two rich gay dads.

Wait.

Michael and Gavin aren't gay… are they?

Ray casts his gaze at both of them, Michael won't even look at Gavin, who is currently smirking at Ray with his sunglasses on, absolutely unreadable.

Oh.

They just might be.

Had Ray stumbled upon criminal homosexuality? Or something else?

Ray hadn't even thought about that. But his thoughts are quickly cut short when Gavin speaks up, breaking the silence between them just before it got awkward, “Well!” He quips, “It seems it's time to head home, yeah boys?”

Michael nods before murmuring, mostly to himself, “Let's get out of here."

Michael turns away from the kitchen, and takes the crate and heads for Ray’s front door, toeing it open carefully before being followed by Gavin, who walks by Ray’s side with a gentle hand draped over his shoulder like he is leading a shy child. By the time they get outside, Gavin tells Ray quietly in a very personal between-them tone, “Leave your key in the lock, love.”

And Ray does just that, leaves the key in the lock. He's just walked away from his home, his job, college, and a majority of the things he owned. And he doesn't even want to look back in the slightest.

Because with Gavin and Michael, he feels safe walking at night. They're both so skilled and deadly, and Ray wants so badly to be like that. To have those skills. Talented. Clever. Dangerous. Safe.

Ray almost wants to thank them for robbing that convenience store earlier that night, for killing that man and taking that money. He felt suddenly awake, alive, and thrilled to be doing what he was doing again.

Gavin and Ray follow Michael out to the Adder that's parked in the front of the lot, the dull roar of Los Santos still in the distance. It's not really a city that never sleeps. Los Santos is huge, and filled with life and crime. High corporation's line the skylines and the gangs hold a tense grip on the streets.

Brilliant white LED street lamps illuminate the parking lot, giving the chrome car a blue glow as it reflects the city back on itself, the roof of it painted that navy blue. Michael drops the crate in the front of the car, in front of Gavin's seat. Jones points at it, then Gavin, “Don’t kick that.”

Gavin nods slowly, like it's obvious, and he widens his eyes for emphasis. Yes, don't kick the few things Ray has.

Ray dumps himself into the back of the sports car, and curls up behind Gavin's seat.

“You're moving in with us,” Michael tells Ray, “You know that right?”

Ray nods, more to convince himself that he's abandoned his apartment at one in the morning with some criminal strangers he hardly knows, “Yeah. I know.” He’s pretty excited about it as well. He’s pretty shit at expressing his emotions successfully, but it’s not like he doesn’t have them. His lack of emotional-ness in an outward direction is what led him to break up with his last girlfriend. She was a real bitch, anyway.

Gavin shrugs, “I told the boys to wait for up for us, I'm sure they're thrilled to meet the new recruit.”

Recruit. Now Ray like the sound of that. He's to learn from the Fakes, and become one of them. He's sure he can do it, he's got enough skills to be able to be completely useful to them given practice and application. He will have a skill set without classroom work, and idea makes his heart float. He didn’t like being bad at things. He wasn’t good at busy work, or learning from a lecture or a textbook, but hands on, Ray really could do anything. He taught himself to be better at video games when he was a kid. Now, guess who’s got one of the highest gamer scores out there? Ray does.

Michael starts the car once again, revving the engine as they pull out out of the parking lot strictly faster than necessary. Michael is a great driver at high speeds, don't get Ray wrong, but holy shit. Maybe he would learn to drive like that.

“So…” Ray starts, “How many Fakes are there?”

“Five in the main crew,” Gavin tells him, “You'll make six.”

“And a handful of others in the B Team. Like Jeremy, Matt and Mica,” Michael adds, “They're our backup cleanup when necessary. Most of them are people with connections who are willing to help for a paycheck."

“Ah.”

“Oh, and…” Gavin starts to tell him, “Watch out for Ryan when you get to 636… he's the creepiest of all of us. Also the scariest. You're his type so, you might want to… lay low?

Ray nods slowly. Great. What was he getting himself into, “I'll recognize him how?”

“He's the one that's not Geoff and not Jack,” Gavin deadpans.

“Thanks bro, you're fucking indispensable,” Ray snaps back. He's tired. Cut him some slack.


	3. I Forgot How to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is the start of dicks - in - asses. The prelude to at least like, five dicks.

The easiest way Ray could explain the home of the Fake AH crew to anyone who hadn’t been to 636 was to say, ‘it’s the most expensive goddamn penthouse in all of Los Santos, in the heart of the city at its highest point.’

Ray and his new buddies stand outside a literal skyscraper, Michael holds the milk crate and walks with Gavin as Ray gazes upward longingly, he hasn’t been in a building like this in years. Not since he stayed with his dad on some work trip to Boston.

“You guys really like to be on top, don't you?” Ray tells them both, still in awe over the sheer size of the building.

Gavin snorts indignantly, “You wait until you meet Geoff.” 

Michael nods in agreement. Yeah. Michael would say that Geoff is a rich man, demanding a lavish lifestyle with exotic liquor and more sexual desire than anyone could even want to describe. Michael knows that first hand, he's had too many late nights and all nighters with Geoff to even begin to explain him. 

For Gavin though, Geoff is essentially his best friend. Sure, he's been fucked by Geoff more than a couple of times but who's to say friends can't get dirty sometime? They're more along the lines of polyamorous anyway, 5 criminals means 4 boyfriends for everyone. Now it's 6 criminals, and Gavin absolutely hopes he gets to rack it up to 5 boyfriends, because what Gavin wouldn't give to absolutely ruin Ray is very few and far between. There’s something that Gavin can only describe as ‘cute’ that revolves around Ray, young, so fresh, and so very… innocent compared to him. Compared to them, Ray is like the purest form of angel to their devilish ways. They’re sinners. They’re murders. They’re thieves. And they’re about to make innocent Ray one of them. 

Michael approaches a nearby door in the front of the building, shouldering open the large glass door and holding it open for Gavin and Ray both with the toe of his boot. Ray mutters a quiet thank you in Michael's direction, but he simply grunts in approval. 

Ray's in sheer awe at the marble floors, the beautiful staircases, high ceilings, glass walls and brilliant lighting. He glances down at his ratty black low top converse, and they're an embarrassment to this floor. Ray sighs. He doesn't feel like he belongs here. He feels like he belongs with Michael and Gav, but not here in this building. He belongs in the slums, fighting for his next meal, like he always has. Maybe it's about time for a change of pace. 

Gavin escorts them both to the elevator; they're only interrupted once however, by a lovely blonde at the front desk, “Welcome home, Mr. Free and Mr. Jones!” 

Michael grunts and doesn't say a word, knuckles tightening on the milk crate as Gavin returns her politeness with a smile, “‘Ello love, nice to see you again Ashley!” She gives the three of them a welcoming nod and continues her work on a PC. Gavin continues, and once they reach the elevator it opens on command, and all three step inside.

“Punch in 636, it'll take you straight up without stopping for other floors,” Gavin tells Ray. Smart, he thinks. 

Not but a second after the golden doors close and the numbers are input into the keypad are they rocketing straight up, toward the top of the tower and the penthouse which they reside. 

When the elevator doors slide open on soundless tracks, Ray doesn't know what to expect. But once he sees their apartment, he's sure it's exactly what he had predicted of them. It's lavish, even by Los Santos in the downtown district standards. Ray follows Gavin and Michael inside and spots three more men awaiting them at the bar counter in their kitchen, laughing joyously and conversing between one another like it isn't two in the morning over a lovely bottle of scotch. Two of them are dressed in nightclothes, the other looks like he just got home.

Gavin lights up when he sees the other's, skipping over to the first man, an old mustache and tired eyes. Ray already knows, that's Geoff. Seeing the gang boss out of his usual formal tux and bow tie attire makes him look a whole lot less threatening, he looks so, normal. Gavin wraps his arms around Geoff, who's laughing as Gavin kisses his cheek.

And that's what's confirms it for Ray. He didn't step in onto criminal homosexuality, he stepped in on criminal homosexual polyamory, and for Ray, that's a whole other animal to deal with. He approaches the three at the counter, hands in his pockets as he takes in the penthouse.

It's furnished with urban clean lined furniture, prominently white leather, glass, and gold. It's beautiful. A sectional couch surrounds a round glass table supported on gold legs, in front of it sits a massive curved plasma, an array of consoles sitting beneath it inside the entertainment center. An Xbox one, PS4, and WiiU are the first few he spots, but it's apparent that there's an array more of older consoles as well. 

The kitchen is large, a singular island with a deep sink and black granite countertops with white cabinets, fronted with frosted glass. Half of the walls are a pale grey, a few are pure white, a dark grey, and a few more are simply glass, giving a massive 180 degree view of Los Santos from the skyscraper which they reside. They have a narrow but wide patio as well, lining almost the entire side of the apartment. It wouldn't surprise Ray if they owned the whole floor, all the wings of rooms and rooftop pool included. 

The view though, keeps Ray's gaze for a moment or two. It really is astonishing, the wide angle allowing for you to see everything from the Maize bank to the Vinewood sign, all the way out to the airport and into the deserts up north. The night brings out the cities color, neons and floods igniting the streets with a passion that cannot be described. 

“So you're Ray,” a deep voice says, and he whips around to face whoever is confronting him, because it snaps him right out of the trance that has him glued to the window. 

“Huh?” Ray turns, facing a tall man with a pretty glorious red beard and glasses. Ray would be proud of a beard like that. But he can’t grow much more than a dirty sanchez and a bit of scruff before he starts to look like a bum. 

The man gives Ray a warm smile and welcoming eyes, “Ray. You're Ray. Right?” 

Ray simply nods, “Yeah. Yeah, I'm Ray.” 

The big guy offers Ray his open hand, “I'm Jack,” he gestures toward the other two accordingly, “And this is Geoff, and of course, Ryan, the Vagabond who I'm sure you're more familiar with.”

Geoff, the mustaches man nods and raises his scotch glass accordingly in a silent greeting, arm gently draped around Gavin's waist. Michael has set Ray’s box of property onto their counter in the island, and wordlessly wrapping his arms gently around Geoff’s neck, and softly suckling onto the column of his throat with a pleased hum. 

Ray simply watches on, a single eyebrow raised as he takes in the sight of Geoff, the leader of such a violent gang surround himself with beautiful, elegant creatures. Part of him wants to reach out and touch Geoff, touch Michael, touch Gavin. But he has just an ounce of self control. 

Geoff chuckles softly glancing at Ray, “I’d love to get the formalities out of the way. But it's really fucking late. And it's obvious my boys desire something from me.”

Geoff glances between Michael and Gavin, he runs his hand up Gavin's shirt and splays his hand on Gavin’s bare side, making him visibly shiver as the three of them seem to move as one out of the kitchen and towards what Ray assumes is Geoff's bedroom. 

Now it's just Ryan and Jack. Well. Now it's just him and Ryan, because Jack yawns and tells him a quick goodnight before retiring. It's about two in the morning now, so he's not surprised everyone if off to bed. 

Well, all but one.

Ryan gazes down into a can of Diet Coke like it withholds every answer to the universe. He's wearing a black mask, a skull if Ray isn't mistaken, and he finds himself fascinated by the man in the mask.

“So…” he starts, trailing off as if unsure where to go with the statement, “You're Ryan?”

“Yeah,” the man says.

The voice is so much lighter than Ray thought it ever could be, coming from a man wrapped in a tattered leather jacket and a terrifying skull mask, blue eyes shining through the night like fireflies. He looks like the reputation precedes him, but he doesn't sound like it. Ray wants to reach out and touch him too. Something has him drawn to the Vagabond, maybe it's his curiosity, but whatever it is, Ray reaches a trembling hand toward the Vagabonds jaw, finger slipping under the edge of the mask as he draws it away nice and slow.

The Vagabond reaches up, and grips Ray's small wrist in a tight grip, his gloved hand chewing into Ray’s soft flesh as he draws Ray away, but just a bit, before reconsidering and allowing Ray to remove his mask entirely. Ray sets it on the counter, standing on his toes to get a good look at the Vagabond himself. Facepaint circles his eyes, smudged from sweat to hide himself beneath the mask. There's something about those eyes against that steely black that Ray finds intoxicating, a sweet drug. Ray drops the mask of his fingertip and onto the granite, holding the gaze of the infamous and dangerous Vagabond. 

Ray reaches a hand up and traces a line across a scar that's carved deep into the mercs face. Ryan turns, pressing his cheek into Ray's accepting hand and sighing.

It's been a real long time since anyone has put their hands on Ryan in any fashion, much less like this. Not with love and care like Ray is. Not even the crew. None of him saw him as one to be appreciative of pleasures of the flesh, not like Geoff and his boys are. There’s something new and fresh about Ray, he doesn’t know the barely contained monster inside Ryan that keeps him so separated from people.

But this, Ray thinks, is a whole new beast to tame. Something he is absolutely willing to do, because there’s something about the gentle curve of Ryan’s throat that has him wanting to bite bruises into the pale skin. 

But Ryan looks at Ray like a predator, and boy, can Ray tell he’s trapped. 

Ryan circles his hands around Ray’s ass, and lifts him. Ray jumps up to meet Ryan halfway, wrapping his legs around Ryans waist and holding himself there, hands on Ryan’s shoulders and chests flush as Ryan crosses his arms across Ray’s back in a futile attempt to crowd him closer. 

Ryan breathes against Ray’s chest, both are still in the kitchen as Ryan holds him. Ray puts his chin on top of Ryan’s head, hugging him close for just a moment before Ryan takes a step, holding Ray tight so he doesn’t fall on the short walk to Ryan’s room in the flat. 

The apartment is pitch black now, save for the little bit of light that filters in from the windows, a soft violet color from the neons that reflects nicely off the polished surfaces that are all over the penthouse. Ray closes his eyes, and just lets Ryan guide him. He goes lax in the Vagabond’s arms. He thinks for a brief moment that letting your guard down around the Vagabond is a person’s worst and last mistake before they die by his hands, but he quickly erases the thought and thinks there’s no way that Ryan would ever harm him. Not here. Not like this. And most definitely not now. 

He hears briefly as Ryan toes open a door and leads Ray into what he can only assume is his room. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Ryan tells him, murmuring it into the fabric of his shirt.

Ray sighs softly in response, allowing Ryan to set him down into his bed on his back. Ryan kneels over him, hands framing his head as his icy blue eyes cut through him as if they’re glowing with the soft light from the city. 

He notices that the room itself has a wall that is entirely a window, they’re so high up anyway, no one would every notice them being up to no good. But the view, the view makes it all worth it. Ray wants to go out onto the balcony and stand on the railing, a single slip from falling to his death, but oh so free. 

Ryan’s calloused hands run up Ray’s side, under his purple hoodie and under his shirt, flush against his soft skin. Cuts and nicks on Ryan’s hands have Ray jolting every time they catch his skin, like sparks hitting his side. 

Ryan bends down, kissing the column of Ray’s throat as Ray wraps his hands around the back of Ryan’s neck to draw him closer, “God, Ray, you’re tearing my heart apart. You’re a dirty god damn tease. The way you talk, the way you move, the way you breathe…” His voice is low and heavy, a tone Ray hasn’t had much experience with. 

The comment makes Ray’s breath catch in his throat, and he lets out an embarrassingly high pitched moan. 

Ryan practically purrs against Ray’s skin between the assault of bites and kisses that are peppering his neck. They’d surely bruise, but that wasn’t part of Ray’s concern. Not right now. His concern is how tight his jeans are getting, how uncomfortable pants are, and the impressive hard-on he’s holding right now and Ryan hasn’t so much as touched him. 

He lifts his hips, searching for Ryan’s thigh he knows is seated between his knees so he has something to rut against. 

Ryan chuckles, murmuring into Ray’s ear, “So eager… Don’t worry baby, I’ll fuck you like you want me to.” 

And that’s what snaps Ray back to reality. 

Oh.

Ryan is going to fuck him. 

Sex.

Gay sex. 

Ray’s never done this. Not once.

And he doesn’t know what to expect in the slightest. 


	4. I Never Disappoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Damn its been a while indeed.  
> I don't hate y'all promise.

And Ryan will fuck him, exactly like he wants to be. Ray believes Ryan beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll do whatever Ray asks of him. But boy, does Ray want to be good for Ryan. Ray thinks he will try and throw a rope around the moon and pull it down to earth if Ryan asked it of him.

  
Ryan shift, rearing back onto his knees as he shrugs off a tattered leather jacket, tossing it aside somewhere onto the floor. He kicks off his boots as well, before turning to Ray and ridding him of the irksome baggy hoodie.

  
It's apparent that Ray has a lovely toned body beneath the baggy hoodie he hides beneath, Ryan watches Ray’s chest heave, and it ignites something primal in his belly. He wants to mark Ray up, make him cry out, make him want it.

  
He bends down once again and catches Ray’s lips in a kiss that steals his breath away and has him wishing for more. Ryan has one of his arms pinned down under his own hand, and the contact makes Ray burn for more. He wants Ryan to cover him, force him down and fuck him into the mattress.

  
It's something Ray was new to, the feeling of wanting to be held down. Usually he is the type who loves power, to hold other people down. But under Ryan’s hungry touch, it's something new and different.

  
“Hands up, baby,” Ryan murmurs against his skin, releasing Ray’s one arm and undoing Ray’s belt with deft fingers.

  
Ray complies, the tiniest whine escaping his lips as he moves, he couldn't imagine not doing what Ryan wanted of him, and he crosses his wrists above his head, spreading his knees and closing his eyes in a sign of submission. He just wants to take whatever Ryan give him. Pain, pleasure, a little bit of both. Ray wants it. Ray wants it bad.

  
Ryan towers over Ray, stood on his knees as to watch Ray writhe for something, anything, under him.

  
“Ryan… please,” Ray says, breathy and drawn out.

  
Ryan let's out a hum of approval, gaze traveling up Ray like a heated caress. Ray lifts himself up on his hands, disobeying Ryan's last command in order to sit himself on Ryan’s thigh and tangle his hands in his hair. But Ryan doesn't let that happen, and when Ray gets up to move against Ryan’s will, he snaps and grips Ray’s wrists hard enough to bruise. Pinning them down to the mattress, Ray whines in discontent. The pressure of his tight skinny jeans is killing him. He glances down and can see the barely there tent of his hard on in the constrictive denim.

  
“Don't make me cuff you,” Ryan tells him sternly, emphasizing the statement with a hard grip on his thin wrists. Ray wants to badly to obey Ryan. To be good for him. But, Ray wants to push his boundaries as well, and see what Ryan does to him.

  
But instead, Ray simply asks, “Do it anyway.” It's not a request from his end either, it's a command. His voice is already so fucked-out it scares him and Ryan hasn't even laid a hand on him.

  
And the sound that comes out of Ryan at that statement is guttural, a disgusting sound of lust and want. Ryan stands up, letting Ray go entirely before heading for his closet, and finding a pair of metal cuffs, Ryan twirls them around his fingers. Real cuffs. Ray thinks briefly that they had to have come off a cop that Ryan had shot once, and the thought that he's in the hands of a violent killer warms his stomach with fear and ire.

  
Ryan snakes back on top of Ray, stretching himself upward and kissing his wrists that he’s currently holding onto before effectively shackling them around his headboard. Ray tugs them, testing their strength before he decides, yeah, he’s not going anywhere.

  
“Stay quiet darling, I wouldn’t want the other's to hear you scream,” Ryan's voice is low as he dips down to his ear, a hint of a southern drawl that Ray detects as Rye draws a line with his fingertip across Ray’s lips.

  
A smirk twists Ray’s lip and he chuckles, “Let them.” Ray absolutely wants everyone else to know how good he feels, how right he is, and how good Ryan is to him. It’s Ryan. There’s some hole in Ray’s soul that he feels he has and Ryan fills it. Maybe it’s because Ray is in fact terrified of Ryan, and Ryan pushes aside his cold dead heart that college killed and brings out the life in him, the fear.

  
In Ray’s moment of clarity, he thinks about the last time he was afraid. He wasn’t afraid when he met the Fakes. He wasn’t afraid when he first left his parents house. He’s afraid right now as the Vagabond’s, no, Ryan’s hands toy at the edges of his jeans and as his calloused fingers gently pet his sides. Before long, Ryan slips his thumbs into the waistband of Ray’s jeans and boxers both at once, yanking the denim down to Ray’s ankles, then finally off. He tosses them aside into what seems to Ray as the darkest corner in the room.

Ryan digs his fingers into the soft curve of Ray’s hip, a silent command, ‘Be still.’

  
And Ray does just that, a shiver of anticipation runs up his spine. He’s never done this with a guy before, much less someone terrifying and demanding as the Vagabond himself. Ray feels like if he doesn’t heed Ryan, those large rough hands that are petting his thighs will snake up to his throat, and squeeze the very breath from his lungs.  
Ryan bends down to Ray’s now exposed cock. Hard, making a gentle line as it curves up toward his stomach, a pearl of precum beading on the tip. Ryan smiles at it, and blows a puff of hot air across Ray’s dick as he chuckles, voice low, “You’re quite the treat.”

  
A whimper escapes Ray, and he turns his head to the side closing his eyes to get away from that burning blue gaze Ryan is gracing him with. Ryan shifts, Ray can feel it, then suddenly there’s a strong hand holding his jaw as his eyes snap open in surprise, “Look at me,” Ryan growls. It’s an order.

  
Ray turns, watching as Ryan slowly makes his way back to Ray’s dick, nipping at the skin of his stomach leaving a faint trail behind. Ryan grabs Ray’s thighs and practically bends him in half, laying his eyes on Ray’s puckered hole.

  
Ray’s breath catches in his throat, the feeling of that those eyes cutting through him like a hot knife.

  
“Don’t move,” Ryan breathes.

  
The first press of Ryan’s tongue against his hole is a shock, making Ray jump and cry out. Ryan lathes the flat of his tongue over Rays hole, making him shiver.

  
“Ry, Ryan…” Ray tries, only to be silenced with a cry as Ryan delves a finger up to the third knuckle into his ass. The burn is oh so good too, and he goes quiet, laying lax in Ryan’s hands. He licks from Ray’s taint to the base of his balls, slow and deliberate.

  
Its then when Geoff walks by and bangs on the door, sharp and deliberate. Because it's Geoff, he doesn’t give one fuck what is possibly going on in Ryan’s bed, “Get the fuck up and quit fucking, the boys wanna go out and give the new one a proper introduction to the way the Fakes do things.”

  
Ray shivers visibly under Ryans hands, thinking about the mere two inches of wood that keep Geoff out of this room and watching him squirm. Geoff seems like that type, to watch.

  
Ryan sighs, he knows there's no arguing this one. Just accepting it, before Mogar is in here waving around an unlit Molotov like it's the Fourth of July, ruining all his fun anyways and terrifying Ray. Ryan slowly removes his finger from Ray’s ass, “I guess you get to be all kinds of pent up tonight,” he murmurs softly.

  
Ray whines, the threat of tears stinging his eyes. Oh this is going to _hurt._

  
The Vagabond stands, looking down on his prize, “We’ll be out in a few Geoff!” He shouts towards the door. The sight of Rays tan legs, parted for him and hands held securely above his head, cute flush high on his cheeks and pretty brown eyes have him rock hard in his pants.

  
You can hear Geoff grunt an approval before striding off.

  
And oh how Ray burns with shame. His chest feels hot and tight all at the same time, breath ragged and head confused and slightly upset. There's a soft metallic clinking sound, and it is Ryan un-cuffing him from the headboard. He has his eyes closed, and feels a gentle kiss on the inside of his wrist red from where the cuff cut into him.

  
He blinks his eyes open, and leans forward, sitting up, cock hard and proud. He sighs, before pulling up his pants and standing on legs he can hardly feel. That was so much pleasure all at once… he can still feel it in the pit of his stomach and it's killing him, knowing he has to wait. Fuck.

  
“I’m okay,” Ray says to no one in particular. Mainly himself he’s trying to reassure, as he regains command of his wobbly legs.

  
Ryan drapes a hand on his shoulder, he somehow got dressed in the past few seconds Ray thinks, not realizing he's moving painfully slow himself. “You’ll be fine, you better be,” Ryan says firmly, “The lads won’t appreciate it if you’re not.”

  
Ray stands straight, stretching his back, “I never disappoint,” he says with a wink in Ryans direction, which causes Ryan to smile just a bit. And oh, how that smile is one in a million.

  
Ray can feel it in his stomach, he's in deep shit.


End file.
